


Ridiculous Thing (We Shouldn't)

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, F/M, Hand Job, Jon is not related to the starks BUT they adopted him, Jonsa Smut Week, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Pseudo-Incest, Sex Toys, a-z kink challenge, all good stuff, also i know very little about the legalities around adoption - but it's my au so just go with it, but they gonna, jon was adopted by the starks at 15, novelty sex toys, so it would be pretty much illegal for jonsa to hook up, switching POVs, t for toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-18 19:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15493185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: Sansa had done it. She’d done‘the ridiculous thing’and she had no explanation handy for if she didn’t now get home before Jon, and thus preventing what would surely be the most mortifying experience of all her 24 years on this earth.For 'We Shouldn't' prompt (Smut Week)Also for 'T for Toys' for the A-Z Kink collaboration





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Titania_Queen_of_the_Fairies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titania_Queen_of_the_Fairies/gifts), [israfel00](https://archiveofourown.org/users/israfel00/gifts).



> ok guys - this is my entry for Jonsa Smut Week AAAAND one of my entries for the A-Z Kinks collab (killing two birds with one stone lol) File this under 'T for Toys'
> 
> Now - I've had to chop this 'one shot' up because it was getting super long and tbh I need the validation to be able to bring myself to finish the thing. Sadly, there is no smut in this first chapter :(
> 
> WARNING - there is a link embedded into this in case anyone is confused about the novelty gift that Sansa used - consider that link NSFW - it's not graphic, but you probably don't wanna get caught looking at it, ya know? lol
> 
> The second chapter will contain the smut and is for the smut week prompt 'We Shouldn't'
> 
> Thank you to Tanya and Israfel for cheering me on when I really really felt like I lost steam with this story!! Cheers guys!

She should’ve known better than to let Margaery talk her into literally anything. _Seriously,_ that girl just has a special knack for finding ways to embarrass Sansa endlessly. It really is a gift.

It can’t all be blamed on her friend, she supposes, what with her own willingness to down that bottle of wine last night and spill all about the novelty gift that was in the goody bag she’d gotten from Myranda’s hen party. She _should_ have stopped there. Just let Marge take a peek at the packaging, have a little giggle and nothing more. _The ridiculous thing_ could stay in her bottom drawer unopened for the rest of its days as she had originally intended. _But_ ooo _oh no!_ Sansa was feeling bold that night, and had reasoned that since her flatmate and adopted brother Jon was ‘round Pyp and Gren’s that evening, and she was riding the pleasant buzz that comes from copious amounts of Chardonnay (and add in the ‘Marge-factor’) then _why the hell not?_

The packaging got ripped, the instructions were squinted at and Sansa locked herself in the bathroom with Margaery cackling at her through the door.

Sansa had done it. She’d done _‘the ridiculous thing’_ and she had no explanation handy for if she didn’t now get home before Jon, and thus preventing what would surely be the most mortifying experience of all her 24 years on this earth.

You see – a hangover isn’t the best partner to couple with the whole ‘being an adult and getting up for work’ thing. She’d shuffled into the bathroom, tried her best to make herself look half human and then rushed out the door with a shout of a goodbye over her shoulder to Jon.

It wasn’t until she was on her journey back home again that she remembered _‘the ridiculous thing’_ she had done, and with the cold drip of fear and pure fire of embarrassment, she recalled that she’d left _‘the ridiculous thing’_ in plain view on the side of the bathroom sink.

Now, there was every possibility that Jon had already seen it. In which case, she should just go home and pack her bags now because there is no way she’d ever live through the mortification. But what if _-what if_ \- he hasn’t seen it? What if she hurries home on this stupidly slow public bus, changes to the underground tube and then sprints the remaining five-minute journey on foot to their shared apartment and she gets home first? _Ta-dah!_ The ‘ridiculous thing’ will go straight in the trash! No, wait, it’ll go down the food processor! No! _She’ll set the bloody thing on fire!_ Anything – _anything_ \- just so Jon does not see with his own two eyeballs what she did last night.

Oh Gods! What would he think of her? How would she be able to look him in the eye ever again? It’s awkward enough when he comes out of the shower, dripping wet with nothing but a fluffy white towel slung low on his hips. Sansa has to constantly remind herself that he is her brother – adopted into the Stark brood at the age of 15. Sometimes she thinks there’s something wrong with her.

Finally reaching their building, she raced up the steps to their second-floor apartment, heart and hopes and fears all trapped in her throat. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ The hallway had never seemed so long but finally – _finally_ \- she made it in front of their door. The sodding keys fumbled themselves in her nervous fingers, but she jammed them in the lock none-the-less.

 _C’mon! C’mon,_ she chanted to herself and the Gods above, literally falling through the door in the most ungraceful manner. Sansa ignored the pounding in her ears and rushed straight to their bathroom, she sucked in a breath and let out a squeak at what she saw there.

_No!... No, no, no!_

Jon had his back to her. He turned, obviously hearing the totally un-elegant way she’d trampled over herself to get in their apartment and then gasped once she’d seen that she was too late – henceforth, Sansa Stark’s poor nerves are doomed to an eternity of embarrassment. She should be banished to some far-flung outer societal circle where she will _never_ come in contact with the man stood in front of _ever_ her again.

“Sansa?” Jon said with a confused crease between his brows. He was staring down at _‘the ridiculous thing’_ as it laid flat on his open palm, ‘exhibit A’ evidence of her drunken crimes.  “Why do we have a purple silicone vagina in our bathroom?”

****

This is fine. This is _totally_ fine.

Except it wasn’t fine _at all._

 _I was doing so well!_ Jon whined internally, wishing he could bang his head against the surface of their kitchen table. He hadn’t had a sexual thought about his sister – _adoptive sister_ \- in… maybe… a fortnight? Three weeks? Not that he does do that – _Hell no!_ That would be disgusting and wrong and-and… _disgusting!_ Sansa is legally his _sister!_ And yeah – she’s pretty…ok, she’s beautiful… alright, she’s absolutely _fucking perfect_ , and if he were just some other guy – some guy not tied to her in _any way,_ someone who she didn’t consider her brother, and someone who wouldn’t instantly picture their own adoptive father throttling them whenever they stare too long at her ass when she wears those soft grey yoga pants – then, _and only_ _then_ would it be acceptable to admit that he has – _on occasion_ \- thought of the way she chews her bottom lip whilst he jacks off. But Jon definitely _does not_ do that!... Much.

He puts it all down to their proximity - what with them now being roommates and all. It used to be him, Robb and Sam. But then Sam moved in with Gilly and Sansa was looking for a place… and then Robb left with Jeyne too. So now it was just him and Sansa. Sansa and Jon. Jon and Sansa… _Fuck!_ he really needs to get laid soon. It’s never been a priority for him (he’s not _Theon_ for Christ sake!) and he’s always preferred to have a partner rather than go out seeking his jollies with one-night stands… but maybe he should reconsider? Not that this is a problem or anything! Jon is _fine._ Absolutely, 100% fine… F.I.N.E

Except he really wasn’t. Because now _he knows._ He knows that Sansa – his fucking gorgeous sister – _adoptive sister_ \- and roommate that he in _no way_ thinks about in a sexual manner – has a really, _really_ cute looking pussy.

Jon bites down on his lip at the memory of the silicone replica of her most intimate area. It was purple…which was a bit off-putting if he’s honest, but now he wonders at the original’s true shade (the same way he has previously pondered on the colour and size of her nipples too – not that he would ever admit to that.)

He has to remind his treacherous body to calm the fuck down when Sansa groans (and _not_ in a good way) right next to him at the kitchen table. Her head in her hands as she stares at the grain of the wood. In front of them lays the torn packaging of the [‘Clone-A-Pussy’](http://clone-a-pussy.com/) kit, a novelty gift she’d explained had been given to her at a hen party. “I’ll move out,” she offers, and Jon is forced to replay the words to make sure he’d heard them right.

“What? Why would you do that?”

“You’ve seen my… _you know_.”

“It’s no big deal, Sansa,” Jon tells her even though his base thoughts are raging with their counter arguments.

_At least, it’s not a big deal for you. You can see it anytime you want. I’m the sick bastard who’s lusting after his own sister – adoptive sister- enough to be currently wondering how I can get another peek. Fuck._

“Yeah, apart from the fact that I currently want to crawl into a ball made of my own mortification and stay there for all eternity.” Sansa says, still staring at the table.

“That’s a tad overdramatic.”

“Easy for you to say. It wasn’t a perfect replica of _your_ genitalia that was sat on the side of our sink a few minutes ago…” her voice trails off and she whips out her phone from her pocket. Jon’s not sure what she’s up to but any kind of distraction from her current embarrassment is a welcome one. He really, _really_ doesn’t want her to move out. He likes spending time with her and they mesh well as roommates. He can keep his pseudo-incestuous thoughts in check – right?

“Here!” she announces and shoves her phone into his hands. “You do one and then I won’t feel so embarrassed.”

Jon feels his brows pull together before he starts scrolling on her phone. She’d brought up a website – a sex toy website – and made sure to show him the novelty section. “What am I looking at here?” he asks, frowning down at a picture of some edible panties.

Sansa huffed and grabbed her phone back. A few more clicks and it was shoved in his face again. “The people who make the ‘clone-a-…’” she trails off, unable to finish the product name but jabs her phone at the offending packaging all the same. “Well, they make a ‘clone-a-cock’ kit too.”

_Wait._

He stares at her, trying to figure out if she’s saying what he thinks she’s saying. “You… want… me to do one of these things?!”

“Well yeah!” she retorts as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You’ve seen mine, and now I feel deeply embarrassed… so I think we should even things up.”

“You want me to be deeply embarrassed now?”

“Do you have something to be deeply embarrassed about?”

“What? _No!”_ he splutters, feeling his cheeks flame red. “Give that here,” Jon grumbles as he swipes her phone and starts scrolling through the options. “Can’t believe you want me to-“

“Not _‘want’_ – _‘need’_.”

“You _need_ to see my dick?” he says, kind of liking the way his accusation makes her flush even harder.

“ _What?_ _No!_ _Jon!_ I just need there to be a level playing field. You’ve seen my replica, now I need to see yours – so we’re even.”

“Seven bloody hells, Sansa. _Really?!_ You’re serious about this?”

She looks at him then, an irresistible look to her big baby blues. _Fuck!_ How could he possibly say no to her? This whole thing was utterly ridiculous.

“Please, Jon,” she asks, ever so sweetly, “it will make me feel a bit better. And then we can forget the whole thing.”

“Fine!” he huffs, handing back her phone, “Order me one of those bloody kits.”

Sansa grins triumphantly and Jon can’t help but smile to himself in return.

****

The kit Sansa had ordered was _meant_ to be flesh colour. Jon had voiced his preference for the glow-in-the-dark option but it was a tad more expensive, so he settled for… _whatever this was._

The casting procedure was messy but not too difficult. He’d felt more than a bit foolish at getting a hard-on just to stick his cock in a tube, but by this point, he’s kind of curious to see just how life-like the thing is actually going to look. He’s not too sure what to think of the fact that it comes with a bullet vibrator to turn the replica of his junk into a fully-functional sex toy.

The silicone had to be left for 24 hours to cure, so Jon was more than a little surprised to find Sansa at their kitchen table, removing the finished product from the mould when he came home from work the next day. “You can make it vibrate?!” she calls out to him before he’s even rounded the corner into their kitchen.

“ _Hey!”_ Jon yelps once his brain catches up with himself. “Why are you opening that?”

“You were gonna show me anyway, Jon,” Sansa comments as she finishes pulling a perfect representation of his erect cock from the cast. “Whoa,” she says, inspecting the thing in her hands.

Jon’s not quite sure which reaction is overriding the other; _embarrassment_ – because Sansa is closely examining his cock, or _arousal_ … _because Sansa is closely examining his cock!_

“ _Christ_ , Jon,” she mutters, “Is this really… ?” her words trail off and he swears her eyes flick to his trouser-clad crotch. “Because…I mean…” she wraps her delicate fingers around his replica shaft and _oh God_ , it’s too much.

He lunges forward and snatches the offending article from her hands. Sansa gasps but looks up at him as her teeth sink into her bottom lip. “You weren’t wrong when you said you had nothing to be embarrassed about,” she said, her face rapidly blooming a beautiful shade of pink.

“Err… thanks? I think?” he says, feeling ridiculous whilst holding a vibrating version of himself, the silicone phallus jiggling a little with his movement. Sansa eyes the thing in his hand and wets her lips.

_Ok, that’s it. I’m done._

He opens up the bottom drawer – the one they use for completely useless things like mystery keys, instruction manuals for all their electronics and batteries that may or may not still have power. “Ok, I’ve done it. You’ve seen it-“ he chucks the plastic representation of himself to the back of the drawer, “-now we can forget about this whole weird episode and go back to normal, right?” Jon slams the drawer closed forcefully, making Sansa jump a little. “You don’t need to be embarrassed any more. And more importantly, _no-one_ is moving out. Ok?”

Sansa wrenches her eyes from the drawer to meet his, giving him a half smile and a small nod.

****

Two Years Later…

Sansa sighed softly, watching her boyfriend as he slept soundly next to her. _This was all a big mistake,_ she thinks, allowing the pangs of sorrow and guilt to swallow her up in the comfort of the dark.

_It’s not Waymar’s fault, why are you using him like this?... Because the alternative is awful. Disgusting. Your own brother?!... Adopted brother._

She must be sick. All her other siblings see Jon as one of them, brother, part of the Stark pack. Sansa had thought she did too.

She remembers the scrawny teenage boy who came to them as a foster kid. 15 years old and no one to look out for him. Everyone had taken to him – _everyone._ Well, except for maybe her. It wasn’t that she’d had any issue with Jon per se, it was just that she already had three brothers - four if you count their neighbour Theon (which everyone seems to do) who is in their house more than his own. So, a 13-year-old Sansa just wasn’t particularly interested in the dark-haired quiet boy who was living in their spare room.

Upon learning that boys are less likely to be adopted than girls, and with teenage boys it’s practically unheard of, Sansa’s parents decided to make Jon’s place in their family official. And so, adoption papers were signed, and they held a huge party in Jon’s honour. He was happy that day. It must’ve been the most Sansa had ever seen him smile whilst they were young.

Sansa was happy for him too. She really was. But it was a distant sort of happy.

Then Sansa entered the throws of teen-hood and she’d wanted to be anywhere but at home with her family. She wanted to be with her friends. She wanted to be with potential boyfriends. She wanted nights out. She wanted to experience it all.

She’d only really started to get to know Jon in the first years of her twenties. Her laptop had broken, and she decided that broadcasting her emotions about the whole ordeal on facebook was the best solution to her problem.

Turns out – _it was._

Jon knew his way around electronics and, after seeing her over-dramatic distress signal online, had decided to be her knight in black skinny jeans and come to her apartment to help. After that, Sansa decided to make more of an effort with her adopted brother she hardly knew.

His girlfriend at the time, Ygritte, had not been so fond of her, or of the time that Jon was now spending with her. It didn’t matter – their relationship didn’t stand the test of time anyway. But really, why should it have been an issue? Sansa was just spending time with her brother – _adopted brother-_ it was all normal stuff… right?

Except it wasn’t normal stuff. Having sex dreams about your brother is not normal. Waking up from said sex dream and being so turned on you touch yourself is not normal. Having to remind yourself not to stare at his lips/eyes/arms/shoulders/ass _is not normal._

But still, Sansa convinced herself that everything was _fine._ She just needed to spend more time with him – make up for those lost years when she had been too disinterested to care. She’ll become… desensitised in a way.

And then the clone-a-pussy incident happened two years ago. They were roommates and as ever, Sansa had everything under control. She hardly ever had the sex dreams – ok, ‘hardly ever’ is a bit of a stretch, maybe every-once-in-a-while she had one… like, one per fortnight or something… but she only _on occasion_ allowed herself to masturbate afterwards.

She was fine. Everything was _fine._

But then he’d seen her… ‘thing’… and like an utter idiot, she’d insisted that he do one too… so she’d seen his… ‘thing’ in turn.

 _And oh, god! What a ‘thing’,_ Sansa flushed at the memory and the knowledge of what lay hidden in her bedside drawer. He had been more impressive-looking than she’d anticipated, not too large, but thick and attractive in a way – even in the slightly plastic-y faux-flesh colour. The realisation had stirred something in her and from that day she knew she couldn’t live with her brother any longer. She needed some space before she went mad.

She’d practically leapt into Waymar’s open arms when he’d come along. Willing to over-indulge in a relationship that had nothing to do with anyone she legally related to.

She’d tried to shift her feelings for Jon onto him. She realises that now.

And it hasn’t worked.

She misses Jon. Moving out from their apartment had only fanned the flames for her. She thought she was suffering from something purely physical – an attraction based on sick lust. But it was _more_ than that.

She misses the way he would be sure to use her preferred mug when he made her a cup of tea. She misses the way he would tease her about arranging their food cupboards ‘just so’. She misses the way he would know if something was troubling her – he wouldn’t force it out of her – but suggest going for a walk to their favourite coffee place and just wait – wait for her to spill all if she wanted to, or drip feed him her issues if not.

She loved him. And not the kind of love she _should_ have for him.

The realisation struck her like nothing else.

She couldn’t love Jon. _She couldn’t._ The way she was feeling for him was literally _illegal._

Sansa sometimes catches herself wondering what Jon might think of her and her feelings. Would he be disgusted? _Probably._

It doesn’t matter anyway. In the eyes of the law they cannot be anything other than siblings.

And that’s that.

She huffed and rolled away from her boyfriend and onto her back. He’d found Jon’s ‘thing’ in her drawer by accident that evening and they’d-

 _Oh Christ! If only Waymar knew!_ Sansa closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands.

She’ll be seeing Jon tomorrow at Robb and Jeyne’s wedding – will she be able to look him in the eye? Will she be able to stop the blush from staining her cheeks?... Will she be able to not fall in love with him even more?

Sansa’s not so sure.

****

Jon’s nerves were on edge all damn day. It wasn’t enough that he was one of Robb’s best men (the duty being shared with Theon – as long as Theon was to do the Best Man speech, which was a-ok by Jon), but Sansa will be here and he’s not quite sure if he wants to see her at all.

He loves her. He’s a sick son-of-a-bitch who should be able to control his feelings. But he loves her none-the-less.

When Sansa had started dating Waymar not long after the ‘clone-a-cock’ incident, Jon had felt it keenly in his chest, where his disgusting heart lay beating just for her. And then she’d moved out not long after that, shacking up with that douche – probably having hot sex all day without one thought of her vile brother who wants to be the one doing all manner of filthy things to her instead of sodding _Waymar_ – her actual boyfriend who is in no way related to her. Legally or otherwise.

 _God!_ Jon wanted to punch something.

Maybe if it had just been some weird kink, some odd sexual fascination he had for her, maybe he could have overcome it? But no, Jon’s heart had to go and declare itself for her with terrifying realisation. Fuck, he missed her so much.

She came down the aisle in her baby blue bridesmaid dress, clutching at the bouquet of white flowers and his chest felt taut at the sight of her. When was the last time they’d seen each other? Christmas – eight months ago. It’s like they’d been avoiding each other.

_Or she’s too busy having all kinds of kinky sex with Waymar. The prick._

Oh, this was torture. Jon shifted on his feet as his eyes stayed with her, walking ahead of the bride. She looked to him and beamed the most beautiful smile. Suddenly, they weren’t at his brother’s wedding, Sansa wasn’t a bridesmaid, and he was no best man. It was just him, waiting at the alter for her.

But that could never be.

***

The ceremony went smoothly, with many a relative shedding a tear. Jon had managed to do well in avoiding too much interaction with Sansa and had consoled himself with a few too many whiskeys if he’s truthful with himself.

He stumbles out the back of the large manor house where the festivities were being held. The cool night air like a balm to his flushed skin. He breathes it in deeply, liking the freshness that expands his lungs. Behind him, the base of the music and laughter from the dancefloor continues on without him. Jon spies a bench just off to his right, situated perfectly to overlook the sprawling, pristinely manicured lawn, now drenched in darkness. Seating himself, Jon leans over his knees, head in his hands, letting the quiet overtake him.

He just needs some time away. Away from the hubbub, away from the noise, away from _her._

He couldn’t help it. He tried to stop it. But without fail, his eyes found her wherever she was in the room. It was maddening. It wasn’t healthy – longing so keenly for something forbidden.

“Room for one more?” comes the unmistakable voice of Jon’s sweet torture.

_What have I done to deserve this?!_

Jon looks up to her, an affable smile painted across his lips. She’s a little wobbly on her bare feet, her fingers hooked around the straps of her heels and a drink in her other hand with the ice making a clinking sound against the glass. “Sure,” he says, scooting over to make room.

Sansa lets out a deep satisfying breath as she sits down, looking out over the blackness before them. Jon studies her profile. Refined and elegant – even in her current state of inebriation. Not that he can talk.

“This is nice,” she sighs, turning to him with an air of softness.

“Yeah,” Jon agrees, looking back out to the night, “Robb and Jeyne are very lucky to have found each other.”

Sansa hums her agreement and takes a sip through her straw. Jon’s pulse jumps when she leans into him and rests her head on his shoulder. He closes his eyes, unsure if he should savour this or endure it.

“Do you think we’ll ever find someone like that? You know, ‘the one’?” she asks, her voice sounding small and ponderous.

“Is Waymar not ‘the one’ for you then?”

Sansa straightens, allowing him to shift so he can better take her in. Sansa’s gnawing at her bottom lip as she chases the ice cubes around in her drink with her straw. “I don’t think so.”

Jon only nods. She’ll offer him more if she wants to. Instead she huffs and changes the subject.

“I miss living with you.”

Jon’s heart constricts, throbs with sensations warring against each other. “You can always come back.”

Her eyes lift to meet with his and something – _something_ – passes between them. It’s as if she _knows._

“Thank you, Jon.”

They’re silent for a moment. It’s pleasant. The night and the alcohol cocooning them in a blanket of comfort as if they were in a world of their own out on this little bench together, with them both staring out into the nothingness of the black night.

Memories of living together flash through his mind making Jon’s brows draw together at a certain recollection.

Before he knows what he’s saying – the words slip past his mouth.

“Do you know what happened to that… that _‘thing’_ I made? You know, the… clone-a-… thing?” Sansa takes a sharp inhale over her teeth as he turns to look at her. “It’s just… I thought I put it in the bottom drawer in the kitchen, but I was sorting through it the other day and it wasn’t there. Did you throw it out?”

She draws her lip into her mouth and shakes her head silently. Her cheeks staining pink, visible even in this absence of light.

“I have it,” she admits quickly.

“You have it?”

This is both the best _and_ the worst news of his life.

Sansa nods.

“I… I’m sorry. I took it when I moved… I don’t really have an excuse… I just…”

“Have you used it?” he asks, getting the words out before he has a chance to think on them too much. Sansa nods again and Jon has to bite down hard on his tongue.

“Actually,” she starts, staring down at her lap, “Waymar found it last night and-”

“What?!”

Sansa glances up at him bashfully through her lashes, reaching up to tuck a tendril of hair behind her ear. “He thought it was just a standard vibrator… so he… we… well, he kind of used it on me.”

Jon’s jaw went slack as he watched her with wide eyes.

“Is that disgusting?” Sansa asks, her face now the very picture of panic, “I’m really sorry Jon, I’ll get rid of it. I-“

“No!” Jon exclaims a little bit too loudly. “No… don’t… “ he ruffles his hand through his hair. “Ok, I’ve got to admit… the thought of you using it is… well, it’s really fucking hot.”

“It is?” she asks, looking a little dumbstruck.

“Yeah… I mean…” Jon’s eyes drop to where her chest is rising and falling with each breath, and all he can think is _‘fuck it, just tell her’_. “Anything that involves you is pretty much a turn on to be honest.”

“It is?” Sansa repeats, voice cracking like and eggshell as she stares at his mouth.

Jon wets his lips nervously. His whole body was feeling on edge. “Does that…” Sansa starts leaning in and he can’t help but be drawn to her too, “does that… disgust you?” his heart stutters.

Sansa shakes her head and moves closer still. Jon's heart feels like it's going to pound right out of his chest.

“Come on you two!” Ned calls from the doorway making them both startle and jump apart. Jon’s pulse is hammering in his veins. “Robb and Jeyne are leaving. Let’s see them off!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So i figured I could shoe-horn this chapter in as an entry for the 'A little bit naughty' prompt
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Sansa is pretty sure the words _‘it’s not you, it’s me’_ didn’t actually leave her mouth, but that was kind of the point of how she came to break things off with Waymar two days after Robb and Jeyne’s wedding. Two days after she’d confessed to Jon about taking the perfect silicone replica of his cock, and that she’d used it too. Two days after she very almost kissed him. Her brother – _adopted_ brother.

He’d felt something too. He’d said so.

Sansa’s not sure if all he’s feeling for her is this forbidden pseudo-incestual attraction or more, but her heart hasn’t felt this light since her own devastating self-realisation. She’s not alone in this – whatever it is.

Margaery takes her in whilst she gets back on her feet. Her parents had offered, but as her friend’s apartment is a much closer commuting distance to and from her work, this seemed ideal for now.

It certainly seemed more than ideal after Margaery had treated her to a bottle of expensive wine, up-market take-out and all the best rom-coms that Netflix could conjure.

There was only one thing missing.

Well, two, but she had the silicone replica of one of those things tucked away in one of her suitcases. The other was presumably at their old place asleep (since it’s the early hours of a Wednesday morning).

In years to come, Sansa may blame what she did tonight on Margaery and her wine, but as she stumbled into her friend’s guest bedroom, locking the door behind her, she doesn’t much care about who’s fault it is as a horrifically risky idea pops into her head.

She takes off her clothes until she’s standing there in her underwear, fumbling around in the lower depths of her suitcase until her hand lands on something cool and rubber-like. Biting her lip deviously, Sansa eye’s ‘little Jon’ – or ‘not-so-little Jon’ as it were, and hops onto the bed.

She takes a breath and grabs her phone before she has time to chicken out.

“Sansa?” Jon answers after a few rings. His voice is heavily laden with sleep.

Sansa does not reply. Instead she puts the vibrator up to the speaker of her phone and turns it on. The thing hums into life, buzzing not too noisily, but loud enough that Jon would definitely hear it. Her heart is in her throat.

“ _Fuck,”_ he mutters down the line. “Is that… Are you…?” She puts the phone to her ear and hears rustling and can clearly picture him scramble up to a sitting position on his bed – maybe even putting his glasses on too.

Sansa doesn’t say anything, just takes short breaths against the phone speaker as she guides Jon’s vibrating cock down her body, taking a short sharp inhale when the tip of him rubs over the silk of her panties between her thighs. She finds her clit and begins to circle it.

Jon is breathing heavy on the other line, there’s a little more movement, and Sansa wonders if he’s touching himself too.

“Talk to me, Jon,” she whispers, “tell me what you would do to me… if you could.”

“ _Fuck,_ Sansa,” he curses again, “w-where are you? Where is Waymar?”

“We broke up,” she tells him. “I don’t want to talk about him. I’m staying at Marge’s.”

Sansa swears she hears him make a whining noise down the line. “Come here. Come and live with me again. Please.”

Sansa glances out the open window. The moon is fat and round and the breeze sends a flutter through the curtains she’s yet to draw. She can’t think about moving back in with Jon right now – even if that is precisely what her heart is telling her to do. “Tell me what you would do,” she asks again.

“Are you… using the…?”

“Yes,” she answers, reaching to shimmy her underwear down her legs.

“Shit.”

Sansa moves the vibrator into position and slowly welcomes the head of it, pushing in and pulling out again in shallow movements until she’s accommodated most of its length. “You feel really good, Jon,” she sighs.

Sansa hears a whimper and a thud at the other end of the line and she imagines Jon’s head falling back against the wall behind his bed. “Sansa… _fuck_ , I wish I was there.”

“Are you hard?”

“Yes. I’m always hard for you. Do you know how difficult it was for me when we lived together? _Shit,_ I wanted you so much.”

“What did you want to do to me?” she asks, voice falling unintentionally low and husky as she continues moving Jon’s cock between her legs.

“Oh God, everything, sweetheart. _Everything.”_

Her breath hitches at both his admission and his endearment and Sansa hears him practically panting now. She needs to know. “Are you touching yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me, Jon. I want to hear it.”

“I…I used to think about taking that fancy ice cream you liked to buy and smearing it over your nipples. I wanted to taste the cold creaminess as I sucked on them… “ he paused, his breathing jagged, “and then I wanted to lick a path down your smooth skin to that pretty little pussy of yours-“

Sansa cuts him off with a little gasp.

“God, Sansa. I wanted to eat you out so bad, baby. I wanted to taste you and make you come on my tongue.”

_Fuck._

“We-“ Sansa starts, voice a little shaky, “we shouldn’t want this,” she declares, all whilst enjoying the feel of Jon’s cock sliding in and out of her.

“I know. _Fuck._ I know that.”

“But I want you anyway, Jon… I can’t help it.”

There’s a beat or two where all that’s between them is broken jagged breaths and a shared understanding of who they are and want they want.

“I want you too,” Jon says before he groans, “I want you to be _mine,_ Sansa. Mine to kiss, mine to touch, mine to treat right…” Sansa speeds up her movements with his words, “…mine to _fuck.”_

“Keep talking,” she whispers down the line, her brow furrowed as she concentrated on her pleasure. The toy is good, but she can’t help imagining it would feel so much better to have Jon’s weight on top of her, his body pressed up against hers and his hot breath fanning across the side of her neck.

“I’d love it if you sat on my face, baby,” he offers and Sansa certainly isn’t going to ignore the picture he paints.

She feels herself smile, her eyes still closed, hips rocking up at the thought of looking down between her legs to see those grey eyes staring back up at her. “I always thought your beard would tickle.”

“Yeah? Would you like that?”

“Mmmm.”

“What else would you like, sweetheart? _Tell me_ ,” Jon rasps.

 _Everything,_ Sansa thinks. “I want to ride your cock.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hm,” Sansa nods, letting her mind conjure the image, “on our couch – _your_ couch.”

“ _Our_ couch.”

She bit her lip to keep from grinning. “When we used to sit and watch tv together, my mind used to wander, and I’d think about straddling you there on _our couch_.”

“I wish you had.” His voice sounds strained now, like he’s nearing his end. The thought excited her.

“Would you like that, Jon? Me riding you? Clutching at your shoulders as I bounced up and down in your lap?”

“ _Fuck_ , Sweetheart.”

“God, Jon, you feel so good… I know I shouldn’t, but I want to feel the real thing. I want you inside me so bad.”

There’s a strangled rendition of her name followed by a grunt and groan.

Sansa would find it amusing, possibly even collapse into a fit of giggles if it hadn’t pushed her over the edge into her own oblivion. It felt like she was floating, drifting back down onto the guest bed of her friend’s apartment. When her wits had been gathered, she realised she was still somewhat panting into her phone. Pushing back the hair stuck to the clammy skin of her face, Sansa sat up and tried to regulate her breathing. Jon didn’t seem to be faring much better on the other end of the line.

“Sansa,” he says, tentatively, “I think we need to talk about this.” Her heart sinks through her body, past the springs of her mattress and all the way to the apartment below. “We’ll… we’ll work something out, sweetheart.”

_Will we though?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could come under the prompts 'we shouldn't' OR 'watching me' so either is good!
> 
> I hope that you like it!!

Talking. He’d invited her over to _talk._

Generally, talking is quite difficult when one is pushed up against a wall, with someone else’s tongue in your mouth. “ _Jon,_ ” she keens as his hips roll into hers. He’s hard – that was very, _very_ evident by the fact that when he’d answered the door he was still in only his boxers and the t-shirt he sleeps in. She still wasn’t entirely sure if she should regret being almost an hour early or not. Jon groaned and started to rub his boxer-covered length directly against her knicker-clad centre. Ok, maybe she wasn’t regretting it at all.

“Sansa,” he whispers, layering little prayers and kisses along the underside of her jaw, “Oh God, I want you so bad, baby.” He skims up the outer sides of her thighs as they bracket his hips, hands disappearing under her skirt to cup and squeeze her ass.

“We shouldn’t,” she lets out on a gasp even while she mewls and rubs herself against him like a damn cat in heat.

“We shouldn’t,” he agrees, rutting against her and huffing hot breath into her neck. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Sansa pants because _God_ – that is the very last thing she wants him to do. But they can’t just fall into bed and fuck each other’s brains out without thinking… and against the wall isn’t much better either (even if Sansa’s libido is currently inclined to disagree). “Just-” she cuts off her own sentence by tugging on those glorious curls of his, taking them in hard fistfuls and yanking him back up to her mouth. Jon groans into the kiss and squeezes her ass with both hands again. She breaks away, breathless as she looks him in the eye. His hair is all askew and his eyes are half-lidded, heavy with weighty lust. “Just make me come, Jon. Just this once… just… _I need it_ ,” Sansa rolls her hips against his.

“ _Christ,”_ Jon curses, eyelids falling closed. “I need it too…” One of his hands sneaks around and slips between their bodies, he cups her over her underwear with a large warm palm making Sansa’s head loll back as she bites down hard on her lip. “Let me eat this cute little pussy, Sansa.”

 _Oh God,_ how she wants to say yes to that – to see his face between her legs and feel his breath, his tongue, his beard against her. But she can’t. That’s all too much, to soon. She came over to _talk_ and she’s pretty sure Jon won’t be doing any of that with a mouthful of… well… _her._

Sansa whines against him. She dearly wants to say _yes_ , but the whispers raise their voices and she only just manages to quieten down the internal chant of ‘ _brother, brother, brother.’_

No, there’d be no going back after that. _Is there any going back after this?_

Sansa shakes her head. “No…just…” she’s not really sure what she’s asking, but her hips buck of their own volition and she rubs herself against his hand. “Take me to the couch.”

After Jon does as he’s bid, after Sansa grinds herself down on him, rubbing along his hardness through their clothing, after they’ve kissed so hungrily it was like they were trying to devour one another, Sansa sits back into the corner of the couch, feeling breathless and flushed all over with little pleasant tingles from the aftershock of her orgasm. Jon goes to swap his boxers for ones that don’t currently have a huge wet patch at the front.

They need to talk.

“Move back in with me,” Jon starts, pushing his glasses up his nose. Sansa blinks at him with a furrowed brow.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No. Why would I be?”

One of her hands raises towards the door. “I took two steps into the apartment and we were on each other like animals,” she explains, “at this rate you’ll knock me up within the first week! Illegally, I might add!”

Sansa does not miss the way Jon wets his lips as his eyes flit down to her stomach very briefly. She doesn’t allow herself to dwell on that before she takes a deep breath and puts her head in her hands. “What are we gonna do?”

“I can be good,” Jon offers, scooting closer. “ _We_ can be good. We lived together before without… _that._ So why can’t we again?”

“Because now we know that we both _want_ to.” Sansa swivels her head in her hands to look at him. “Can you honestly tell me that if you suspected I was using that vibrator in my bedroom, you’d stay on the other side of that door?”

Jon’s eyes darken as they fall to her mouth. “I can be good,” he reaffirms, although Sansa doesn’t believe it.

They end up making out again and Sansa comes away from Jon’s apartment with a purplish bloom at the base of her neck and without the pretty lace knickers she’d gone in there with.

It was a bad idea agreeing to move back in. She knew it – and she knew _he_ knew it too. But it is oh-so hard to say no to Jon when he’s got his fingers inside you and his hot breath is whispering lovely filthy words into your ear.

It was definitely a bad idea.

She couldn’t wait.

****

Jon could hardly wait for Sansa to arrive later. She was finally – _finally_ \- moving back in with him. It was a bad idea – possibly one of his worst. But he was pretty happy about it.

He used to think it was just him. He ruins everything – poisons it, strangles it like a creeping vine wrapped around a sturdy tree, slowly wringing the life from it. He does not know who his father is – there’s no name on his birth certificate. And his mother drank herself into an early grave, leaving him alone in the world at the age of 12. It must’ve been Jon, right? He wasn’t enough for her to seek help, for her to be sober, for her to _live._ It must’ve been him. Jon Snow’s fault.

He was shifted from home to home before he was placed with the Starks at 15. He resented them all at first. They were everything – _everything_ – that Jon thought a family should be. They didn’t even know how lucky they were.

But then some of their luck kind of rubbed off on him too and they started talking to him about the adoption. They didn’t _need_ to do that, but they did. And he was one of them now. He even took their name, although, he sometimes wonders if he should have. Lyanna Snow may not have had the strength to stay away from the bottle for his sake, but he was still his Mum, his first family. Even if he resented her a little for leaving him alone in the world.

Jon Stark sometimes allows himself to feel guilty for that, but mainly he takes that guilt and folds it really small until he can tuck it away somewhere deep, somewhere forgotten. That was Jon Snow’s issue to grapple with, Jon Stark was a new person, starting afresh with a new family.

But then he’d started to ruin it again, like a weed in an otherwise beautiful garden. Back then he thought it was just a stupid crush, but as he continued to fantasise about his new sister, he realised he was just sick… filthy… _wrong_. Everything he touches turns to dirt. He had a good thing going with the Starks, why’d he have to be like this?

He thought this way for a long time - until he’d laid himself bare in front of her on that bench with the music and dancing from the wedding reception carrying on behind them, and the absolute nothingness of the night before them. Sansa did not smack him across his face like he’d imagined. She did not recoil in disgust for her brother who was opening his deepest secret up to her.

She took it. She carried it for him. And she gave a secret of her own in return.

He’s never felt so… _light_ in his life.

And now she’s moving back in to their apartment. Jon can’t wait to just do the mundane stuff they used to do together; go grocery shopping, cook meals, fight over what film to watch. It will be just like it was before – except now he doesn’t have _hide._

He had promised Sansa he’d be good. On his best behaviour. He can do that _… he thinks._

The need to bite down hard on the inside of his mouth presents itself to Jon when Sansa beams at him over the first box of her possessions. She’s got her hair in two low wavy pigtails and is wearing little denim shorts with one of his old flannel shirts she’d stolen from him a few years back. It’s knotted at her ribs so her smooth stomach is on show. Her skin looks as soft as a peach.

_Do not think about licking her there. Do not think about licking her there. Do not think about licking her there._

_See_ – he can be good.

After helping her with all her stuff, he just sits there at the kitchen table with a stupid smile on his face and cup of coffee in his hand as Sansa flits around him re-arranging the kitchen cupboards to suit her preferences. God, he’s missed her finickity ass.

 _Speaking of ass,_ Jon’s baser voice quips when she’s reaching up, up, up, on her cute little tippy-toes, her shorts revealing even more when she swings one leg up to the counter to get even higher.

“Jeez, when was the last time you cleaned out the top shelf, Jon?”

He wasn’t listening, just openly staring, drinking in the long lines of her legs and the curves of her ass. Sansa peered over her shoulder, catching him in the act. She raised a brow which somehow made his cock twitch.

“You can be good, huh?” Sansa challenged.

Jon raised his hands in mock-surrender. “Hey, I haven’t touched you.”

He watched as she gracefully swivelled on her knee to sit on the counter so she could face him, her lips pursed together. “Is that the rule then? Everything else is fine as long as you’re not touching me?”

Jon shrugged, unable to answer.

“What if _I_ want to touch _you_?” Sansa asks, one of her long bare legs swinging as it hung down from her counter-top perch.

“You can do what you like.”

Sansa hopped down and walked forward, her crystal blue gaze pinning him to his seat. “Good to know,” she tosses out casually as she’s walking right by him and towards her room. Jon lets out the breath he had been holding.

They settle down with a pizza in the late afternoon, briefly arguing over what to watch on tv, but Jon doesn’t really care. Sansa’s here, and Sansa _knows_ … and Sansa wasn’t disgusted, or repulsed, or offended by him. She’s here. Eating pizza… in the spot where he’d previously had her on her back with his hand shoved in her knickers… knickers that were now in his possession.

_Don’t-… Don’t think about that._

He’d promised to be good, but he thinks they both know it’s only a matter of time before that promise shatters. It’s what will happen when the shards of his broken promise are scattered all around that plague him most. What would his siblings think? What would Ned and Cat think?

Jon can’t bring himself to analyse those thoughts too closely right now, what with Sansa’s arm brushing against his and the scent of her perfume tickling his nose, and the adorable way she tries to demurely eat her slice.

Time rolls on and Sansa settles back into their apartment. It’s a home again now she’s here and Jon starts loving the place once more.

It’s not quite the same though. There’s _moments._

Like when they brush their teeth together sometimes. They never used to do it before, but Jon finds himself unable to resist against the pull to be with her at any opportunity. He stands behind her at the sink, toothbrush working back and forth across his teeth as they stare at one another in the mirror. Occasionally his gaze will drift down her body, taking in the strappy camisole top and little sleep shorts she wears to bed. When their eyes meet in the reflection once more, Sansa’s eyebrow arches slowly back at him – it was like an accusation, a dare, _an invitation_. But he carries on brushing his teeth regardless. He didn’t touch her. He can be good.

But then Sansa starts a whole new ritual for them both and he is very, _very_ close to not being good at all.

It began with walking past her bedroom. The door was wide open, and Sansa was stood wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around her body and tucked into itself at her front. Her hair was a deeper red than normal, water-stained from her shower as she combed through it and spritzed something or other onto it that smelt divine as the scent made its way to his nose.

He stayed rooted to the spot, shoulder resting against the door-frame, watching her as he has come to do freely and readily. She didn’t seem to mind. Their eyes met in the reflection of her mirror and she turned to face him before cocking her head and loosening her towel at the front. She opened it like a pair of glorious wings, baring herself to him before making a show of patting her body down with the thing. Jon stood up straighter, licking at his lips as he watched the display she was putting on for him.

Neither of them said a word, but this soon became something of a routine for them. Jon would walk by her bedroom and silently stop to watch her. She always saw him, she always kept her eye on him as she would undress, rub lotions into her skin, or brush her hair.

One day, after Jon heard the shower water turn off and the soft pad of her bare feet on the carpet as she went to her room, he stood from where he had been idly watching the tv. And like a moth being helplessly drawn forward to the flame, his own feet took him to Sansa’s room as he anticipated what ‘show’ she would put on for him tonight.

And what a show it was.

Sansa was sat on her bed by the time he reached her doorway, perched prettily without a single stitch of clothing on her. She rubbed some lotion into her hands and hummed some sweet honey-like tune low in her throat as she ignored his presence.

“Why don’t you sit down, Jon?” she commented without turning to look at him at all. It was then that he noticed her desk chair had been pulled out and situated to face the foot of her bed. He smirked to himself and did as he was bid.

Jon watched wordlessly as Sansa continued her beauty regime, biting down on his lip to keep a groan from escaping when she stood and then bent over to smooth some potion or another into her legs, starting at the ankle. She knew exactly what she was doing; making sure to angle her ass so that he would get a perfect view of her lower lips nestled between her thighs.

Jon’s not sure who is more eager for him to break his promise to be good - him or Sansa?

 _Somehow_ , he manages to gather himself, tucking away the mental image Sansa had gifted him to revisit later – when it would be safe to do so.

Opening her bedside drawer, Sansa’s hand disappears for a moment as she sits back on the bed. Jon wonders if she’ll brush her wet hair out next, he likes to watch her do that.

But no.

She withdraws her hand from deep within the cavern of her bedside cabinet, and within its grasp is a faux-flesh coloured silicone phallus that Jon recognises as the vibrating version of his own cock. She stands it on it’s end, pointing straight up and carries on with her routine as if nothing were amiss.

“Sansa,” Jon says, not sure if he means for it to sound like a warning or a plea. She only raises her eyebrow in return, the gesture seeming to bait him to either get up and leave or…or… _break his promise._ She lays back on her bed and reaches for the toy, spreading her legs obscenely just for him. Jon couldn’t hold back the needy groan that ripped itself from his throat if he’d wanted to. “Sansa,” he rasps again, but he’s ignored once more as she turns on the vibrator, the low buzzing sound hanging in the space between them like a challenge.

Jon’s eyes track her movements as he leant forwards in his chair at the base of her bed. Does she know what she’s doing to him? Does she know how hard it is for him to not break his promise? To not touch her? Does she want him to?

Like a broken record, all he can think to do is let out her name on a breath again as she has one hand kneading her breast and tweaking her nipple whilst the other directs the vibrating toy lower, lower, lower.

She rubs the head against the top of her sex, the area that Jon knows would make her cry out his name if she would just let him suckle on her there. _Oh God,_ he wants to do that. To have those smooth thighs clamped around his ears and her hips bucking her cunt up into his mouth like she was doing so now, slowly and in time with the movement of his silicone cock.

His eyes are homed in on where she’s rubbing the toy through the lips between her legs, but like a searing brand, he can _feel_ her watching him in return. He flicks his sights up to meet her sky-blue gaze. Sansa’s lips are parted, hanging open and breathing slow and measured and _heavy._ Her eyes are mostly lidded, but she’s watching him – watching him watching her – and Jon wonders what it is she wants most from him in this moment?

Does she desire for him to crawl up on top of her and lick and suck, and nip and kiss his way over the planes of her soft-looking skin? Does she want him to feast upon her and show her that he can do better than any piece of silicone – that with him, he’ll love her right, he’ll love her fully, he’ll love her completely until there’s nothing left of himself. Or is she simply content to have him there, at the foot of her bed; her brother watching intently as she performs this act for him?

“ _God,_ I wanna touch you so bad,” he admits on a needy sounding whine, his tongue flicking out to lick at his lips and his palms smoothing up and down his thighs eagerly.

Sansa bites at her lip and shakes her head. “I thought you said you could be good, Jon?... Can you be good for me?” Jon stifles a whimper but doesn’t quite catch the groan that flies from his chest when he watches Sansa push the head of the vibrator into her pussy. She withdraws, and the toy comes away wet from her arousal before Sansa pushes it in again.

“Sansa, you’re killing me, baby,” Jon huffs, wanting to hang his head in defeat and yet not wanting to miss anything that she does for him.

“Come here,” she beckons, like a deadly siren that he would gladly follow into crashing waves. He kneels on the foot of her bed, not quite sure what it is that she wants from him; but whatever it is, he’ll give it up, gladly. “Use the toy on me.”

_Fuck. Me._

“But-“

“You wouldn’t be touching me,” Sansa says, that teasing brow arching again.

“You think I’ll be able to stop myself if you let me do that?”

“You can be a good boy,” she smirked, pointing the vibrator at him, “you promised.”

_Seven Hells._

Taking the toy and wetting his lips in anticipation, Jon shuffled forward on his knees until he was situated perfectly between Sansa’s splayed legs, her pretty pink pussy waiting for him. He pressed the tip of the toy to her clit, relishing in her moan and the way she cupped her breasts and plucked her nipples. Jon dipped the head of his replica cock into her and then used the vibrator to spread her slick up and around her sensitive knot of nerves. He repeated the action a few times, biting down hard on his lip as he watched himself at work. Sansa’s hips were lifting from the bed and circling slowly in time with his ministrations.

 _Fuck._ He might actually die if he doesn’t get to touch her.

Pushing the toy version of himself into her, Jon enjoys watching her welcome the thing with beautiful sighs, her head lolling from side to side on her pillow. And – because Jon is his own worst enemy – he moves around to lay flat on his stomach, his face so close he can smell the scent of her. His mouth is watering as he eyes that spot that he knows would drive her wild if she would only let him clamp his mouth around it. He’s about to ask – because he can’t help thinking it’s the best idea he’s had in a long time as he’s fucking her with a fake version of himself, but she moans something from up above and it takes him a little while to register the words.

“I can feel your breath on me, Jon,” she breathes, squirming a little, “come up here, I can’t take it.”

About to launch himself upon her, Jon is halted when Sansa points to the floor beside her bed, close to her pillow. “Stand here.”

He does as he’s bid, if not in a bit of a confused daze – until she reaches over to pull his shorts and boxers down to free his achingly hard cock.

Sansa eyes him appreciatively which only serves to make him harder. “Mmmm, better than the toy, I see,” she comments before stroking a single finger up and down his length as it juts out proudly towards her. “Jon,” Sansa chirps, prompting him to find her face again, her eyes dart down towards where he’d left the toy on the bed between her open legs, “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

Jon tries to snort, but he’d pretty sure it comes out as a splutter. “Bossy.”

“You like it when I’m bossy,” she hums, giving him a stroke or two before leaning over to spit on his cock to ease the motion of her hand. “Don’t you?”

“Fuck! Sweetheart, I won’t last that long if you keep doing things like that.”

She had a mischievous glint in her eye now and has victory set in her sights. Jon doesn’t mind though -not one bit - as he’s pushing the vibrator in and out whilst Sansa tugs him off.

“Do you mean… things like _this?”_ she asks before leaning forward and taking him in her warm, wet mouth.

“ _Christ!”_ he curses as his hips surge forward of their own accord and his free hand flies to her head, stroking at her still damp hair. “Oh God, that’s good,” Jon mutters to himself as Sansa allows him to rock his hips back and forth a little, shallowly thrusting into her mouth before she pulls off his cock and reprimands him for stilling his movements between her legs.

It doesn’t take too long for them to work up a harmonious rhythm, which Jon alternating between pushing the vibrator into her in short fast jabs and long deep strokes. Sansa seems to copy his motions as she touches him and sucks on him too.

“ _Oh-oh! Yes! Like that!”_ Sansa groans when he speeds up and changes the angle slightly “ _Oh!”_ her mouth forms the word and stays there as her head presses back into her pillow and her eyes clamp shut. Sansa’s hand has stilled on him, but Jon doesn’t mind. He’s quite content to watch her fall apart splayed out on the bed before him with a gorgeous looking flush tinting that buttermilk skin of hers. “Oh _God_ , Jon,” she shudders when she’s come down from running high on pleasure. Her hand starting to slowly get back into a leisurely rhythm on him.

After she’s picked up the pace, after she starts telling him the filthy things she’s been thinking about doing to him all these years, after he’s grunted and groaned and spurt into her open mouth and a little on her cheek too – _after all that_ – Jon climbs onto the bed beside her. Sansa shifts to her side so that he can curl himself around her back and nose into her thick, blossom-scented hair.

“I’m going to file for the adoption to be annulled,” he says into the space behind her ear. Sansa stills, and Jon can tell she’s holding her breath. He thinks he might be too and wonders if she can feel the way his heart is thundering in his chest where it presses against her bare back.

“But,” she finally ventures in a soft voice, “you love Mum and Dad and… and Arya and the boys. You love being a Stark.”

Jon squeezes her hip. “I do,” he agrees, nuzzling at her hairline, “but I love you more.”

He hears a sharp intake of breath and wonders if he has supremely missed the mark here. Finally, Jon feels her hand come to rest on top of his where it lays on her hip, Sansa interlaces their fingers and brings their jumble of digits up to her lips, so she can brush his knuckles with little feather-light kisses. “I love you too.”

“Good, because when I knock you up, I want it to be legal,” Jon teases, nipping at her ear to make her giggle.

Sansa responds by arching her back and pushing her ass out to rub against Jon’s crotch. “You wanna knock me up, huh?”

“Yeah, I do,” he growls, hips rocking with her movement as he feels himself begin to grow hard again. “Wanna practice?” he asks, tickling Sansa’s ribs until she wiggles and squirms onto her back.

Her laughter catches in her throat when they face each other with soft smiles and Sansa reaches up to smooth away an errant curl or two of his. “So, you gonna be Jon _Snow_ again then?” she asks, voice a little scratchy.

“Well that depends,” he states, the pads of his fingertips drawing swirling patterns on the skin of her shoulder.

“On what?”

“On whether you might consider being _Sansa Snow_ one day?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I feed upon your lovely comments and support - so nourish me! Please! <3


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